


The Lord and his Lady

by PinksoulCustard



Category: CountryHumans, Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, CountryHumans - Freeform, F/M, Hate Sex, Headcanon, I don't ship them this is just me writing bull, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinksoulCustard/pseuds/PinksoulCustard
Summary: Wales is in an arranged marriage with a man she hates
Relationships: England/Wales (Anthropomorphic)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Lord and his Lady

Gold. Yellow and shiny, like the sun. It was warm, and she once loved the colour of gold. But the dull near-green metal that adorned her flowing blonde locks and clamped around her neck did not give her that joyful sense. It felt miserable, disaturated. She held in the urge to weep as she was fitted into her dress, the bland white and pale yellow bringing the same feeling of hollowness as the gold. Her feet weren’t bare, or covered in grass and dirt, but concealed in slippers. She stared at them, blue eyes barren of sparks. Wales felt like she was dying.

The maids were done, removing their hands from the country. Two of them brought forth a mirror, and the maiden looked at her reflection. She did not recognize the woman staring back at her, a complete stranger was where she should be. There was a knock on the door. The maids scuttled away, one opening the heavy wooden door. A small woman with blonde hair and high cheekbones shuffled into the room, and Wales recognized her immediately. 

“Leave us,” she said, keeping her eyes on the woman. Her only indication the maids had left the room was the clacking of their shoes as they scampered off and elsewhere.

The woman lifted her head, a small sad smile on her lips. “Hello Wales.”.

“Mother,” Wales said, “how has thy day gone?”.

“Well my child,” her mother (Carys) responded, and rushed over to her daughter once she caught sight of the watery eyes, “now, now, child, do not weep. Today is meant to be a joyous day, for thou shalt be wed.”.

“I-I know mother,” Wales sniffled, “but father shan’t be there to see it. For he… he…”.

Her mother wiped a single tear from her daughter’s face. “I know my dear, I know. But look at thee, so beautiful. Any man would envy your intended.”. 

Her intended. The man she was meant to marry. The slayer of the Welsh, the knight of darkness, who wallows in the crimson blood of the kingdom’s enemies. The Dragon Banner. William of England.

She was marrying a monster. 

Wales forced herself to smile, and she nodded. 

“Thank you, mother,” she said, “and thank you for being here with me.”. 

Her mother smiled, gently grabbing a hold of her daughter’s head and pressing their foreheads together. 

“Remember,” she said, “I love thee, my child.”.

“I love thee too, mother.”.

… 

He grabbed her hand forcefully, and she looked up to meet his eyes. Those golden orbs of pure, untapped rage. She squirmed under that gaze, that terrifying gaze. How many brave men had trembled under that gaze before their throats were slit and their heads severed. Dragon Banner stared down at her, a heavy silence weighing down on the both of them as he stared intensely at her. As if she were a mouse and he were a cat, and he was assessing his prey. 

The silence shattered.

“I, William of England, take thee, Joan of Wales, to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

His voice was gruff, bearing no emotion. It sounded more like a threat than a marriage vow. Wales forced herself to swallow as all eyes were on her. She spared a small glance at her mother, who gave her an encouraging nod. Wales sucked in a deep breath.

“I, Joan of Wales , take thee, William of England, to be my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”.

She’d said it, the words felt bitter on her mouth. She felt like a traitor. Her father, her dear sweet father had perished at the hand of the English, and here she was, marrying the brother of his killer. 

She shot a quick glance at her now brother-in-law. She saw that malignant smirk, and those ruby red daggers in those black pools glinted in triumph. She wanted to kill him. To strangle him to death, to plunge a sword through his ribs and tear out his heart. But she couldn’t. By God she couldn’t. Not only because the Kingdom was stronger, taller, and could kill her with ease, but because of her accursed gender. A woman. A frail, little golden tiara waiting to be claimed. She didn’t want a life of servitude, of pleasing her ‘dear loving husband’. She wanted to fight, to free her home. But she was one woman. He was a prince, a knight, an heir, who had an entire army by his side. She was weak, he was strong.

So when the ring was placed on her finger, she allowed it. When his lips met hers, she leaned into it, closing her eyes and urging herself not to shove him off. She let him hold her hands, his rough, callous hands that held her soft small ones with an iron grip. They pulled away, and she tried not to sob as applause rang through the room. She was married to a man she hated, to one who hated her back. She was a traitor, a failure, a disgrace to the country she loved. Wales felt dead. 

… 

The door swung shut, and Wales flinched. Her gaze darted around the room, purposefully avoiding the cold harsh glare of her husband. His finger went under her chin, and spun her head around to face him. She suppressed the shivers climbing up her spine, as her blue eyes once again met those harsh gold ones. The finger slipped away, and Dragon Banner walked over to the bed, facing away from her. She knew what was required of her.

(warning of nsfw on the next part so if you’re sensitive to that don’t read this part)

She took off her crown first, placing it on the bedside cabinet. Then she undressed, carefully peeling back each layer of clothing. Soon, she clutched herself tightly as she was exposed to the room’s cold air. She coughed slightly, and Dragon Banner turned around. His eyebrows raised slightly, but the rest of his face was still devoid of emotion. He began to take off his robe. Wales shut her eyes tightly, partly out of respect, partly out of embarrassment. 

Minutes later, a warm hand placed itself on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, and she nearly jumped back in shock when she saw her husband bare naked. His expression was completely serious. No smirk, no scowl. His mouth was a straight line. They stood there, naked as the day they were born, in complete and utter silence. 

Dragon Banner leaned down, and Wales knew what came next. She gently closed her eyes, and waited. Soon enough, a pair of lips were on hers. They were dry and warm, like sun kissed sand. She hesitantly kissed back, making the best effort to stay still. Two hands clamped down on her arms, and she was led forwards. She was carefully pushed onto the bed, the soft pillows cushioning her head and neck. She looked up, back at him, and spread. All she needed to do now was wait for it to end.

– 

He shoved back into her, and she winced, digging her nails harder into his back. He merely grunted, continuing to thrust in and out. Despite the genitals imbedded in her, she felt hollow, like a shell. She didn’t feel present as she stared up at the ceiling, only slightly wincing and scrunching up her hands when he moved.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, wrapping his mouth around a spot of skin and biting down on it harshly. Wales hissed in discomfort, arching her back in response. At the same time, she felt a sticky fluid well up in her gentials, and knew he had finished. Finally, after what felt like hours, it was done. He removed himself from her, moving across and pulling up the covers to get underneath them. It was deadly quiet after that. Both lay on opposite sides of their shared bed, facing away from the other. Now came her realisation. 

That was it. They were married. The Lord and his Lady. In that moment, Wales was dead.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I don't ship England x Wales btw this is just based on a headcannon I have. They actually hate eachother.


End file.
